


Think Like a Goat

by vanillafluffy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Goats, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: Bucky is back, happily tending goats in Wakanda. When one of them goes missing, it leads to a surprising discovery.





	Think Like a Goat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emmatheslayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmatheslayer/gifts).



Brooklyn is missing.

A fast headcount shows Bucky he’s one goat short, and it only takes a moment for him to realize which one. He calls out for the young kid, who’s a special pet of his and always comes to him for treats, but the little brown and white goat does not appear.

He sighs, requests M'bita to keep an eye on the others, and heads out to look for his truant charge.

The informal tradition is that the shepherd has the privilege of naming the goats he’s helped birth. Older members of the flock have ordinary Wakandan names like Afi, Kesse, Juma and Kibibi. Bucky has added diversity with Fiorello--in honor of Mayor LaGuardia, Liberty, Coney, Rosie (short for Roosevelt) and of course, Brooklyn.

For a guy who’d never even seen a goat up close and personal until a couple years ago, he’s gotten surprisingly fond of them. Bucky hurries down the trail to the river, which he figures is the likeliest place for Brooklyn to be. He spots a few small cloven hoof-prints, so he’s sure he’s on the right track.

Except he’s not. There are a few prints at river’s edge, but no Brooklyn. Now what?

 _Think like a goat,_ he counsels himself. That particular goat is usually thinking of his stomach. What delicacy might have enticed him away from the meadow?

Bucky takes note of which way the wind is blowing, and inhales deeply. His sense of smell is much keener than the average person’s, thanks to Hydra’s enhancements. The soft breeze brings an elusive scent…wonderful, alluring…. _Find the source, find the goat._

His sharp eyes detect the spot where Brooklyn left the river path, going into the wind--toward whatever that magical herbal fragrance is.

Carefully marking his trail, Bucky makes his way after the errant goat. It takes more time for him to get through the underbrush than it does the much smaller goat, who already has a headstart. Helped by broken foliage and the occasional hoof-print, drawn by the enticing scent that grows ever stronger as he approaches, he finally emerges into a clearing.

Brooklyn is there, nibbling something from a towering tree. 

“Bad boy, Brooklyn,” he scolds.

The goat turns at the familiar voice, kicks up his heels and bounces toward Bucky. This isn’t unusual. What is unusual is that Brooklyn jumps up and head-butts him in the chest; Bucky lands on his ass. 

In shock, Bucky stares at the kid--he’s only eight months old, not full-grown by any means. The last thing he expected was for a thirty-pound goat to flatten him. Brooklyn isn’t being aggressive, either--just frisky. Once Bucky is down at his level, he nuzzles his face affectionately and sniffs at his robe, looking for treats. 

Bucky scratches Brooklyn’s ears with one hand and gingerly touches his sternum with the other. 

He feels drunk, which he hadn’t been in decades. It’s pleasant, like the spicy sweetness that fills his senses. _The flowers,_ is his dazed thought. The entire tree is covered in them, and it looks as if Brooklyn has consumed all of the ones he could reach. Pretty purple flowers with a unique shape….

_Purple flowers. Holy shit, purple flowers!_

He jumps to his feet, the rush of adrenaline clearing his head. Hastily, he grabs the pouch on his belt, and upends it. Brooklyn descends on the shower of treats, while Bucky pulls out his belt knife and begins harvesting the heart-shaped purple flowers. 

When his pouch is full, he tries to wrangle the goat back to the meadow, but Brooklyn is having none of it. He feels good! He wants to play! And he definitely wants more of the purple flowers!

This is embarrassing, being outmaneuvered by goat. After a few minutes of futilely attempting to catch the cavorting kid, Bucky sighs and decides extraordinary measures are called for. He plucks one of the flowers and pops it into his mouth, reasoning if it didn’t hurt the goat, it won’t hurt him.

Something about the taste reminds him of the pot of violets his ma kept on the kitchen windowsill. Sweet, but there’s an earthy undertone to it. All of his nerve endings tingle. 

The next time Brooklyn leaps at him, Bucky pivots and catches the surprised kid in midair. “We’re going home, kiddo,” he says. “But thanks. You don’t know it, but your little expedition is going to make a lot of people very happy.”

Returning to the meadow, he sends M'bita for the vanilla while he continues to carry the contrary kid. It’s an old shepherd’s trick--if a nanny has to adopt an orphaned kid, rub the kid with vanilla, put a dab on the nanny’s nose, and she’ll be fooled into thinking it’s hers because it smells right. In this case, he figures it’ll obscure Brooklyn’s sense of smell so he won’t immediately go rushing back to look for more purple morsels.

Quickly making himself presentable, he hastens to the palace. Thankfully, he’s on the approved list, and soon he’s entering Shuri’s lab.

“Good afternoon, Bucky!” She’s holding a remote control and standing beside a device that looks like a cross between a pachinko machine and a Van De Graaff generator, but she isn’t upset by the interruption. “Is everything okay? How’s your arm?”

“I’m good, your Worshipfulness.” He’d cribbed that form of address from an old movie, and it always makes her giggle. “In fact, I have something for you.”

“Is it a goat?” she asks dryly.

“No, but it _is_ thanks to a goat. My boy Brooklyn got out of the flock, and I tracked him into the jungle, where I found him gorging--on these.” 

He spills the harvested flowers onto her work table, and Shuri gasps. “Oh, White Wolf! You have saved Wakanda! We’ve worried that my brother would be our final protector, and now--!”

She’s laughing and hugging him. Bucky grins. “There are plenty more where they came from. There’s a whole tree, full of them--minus the ones Brooklyn could reach.”

Shuri calls T’Challa to come to the lab immediately. His look as he enters suggests he’s expecting one of his sister’s pranks, but when she excitedly shows him the pile of purple hearts, his expression changes to one of reverence. Bucky explains where the herbs came from. T’Challa embraces him, and thanks him profusely in Wakandan.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Let me know when you want to go after the rest of them. Meanwhile, I need to get back to the flock. You can thank Brooklyn, he’s the one who led me to them.”

“We will celebrate this day every year with a feast in his honor,” T’Challa promises. “To Brooklyn!”

“To Brooklyn!” Shuri echoes.

“To Brooklyn,” Bucky agrees as he saunters to the door. “The strongest goat in the world!”

…

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon: 
> 
> T'Challa has commemorative coins issued to memorialize the event, in addition to the annual celebration. One side features Brooklyn's head tilted toward a heart-shaped flower he's about to nibble, while the other side shows Bucky's profile. (He rolls his eyes, saying he was only doing his job--he prefers to give all the credit to the goat.)


End file.
